


An Impromptu Dinner

by asleeplessmalice



Series: Good Omens Short Fics [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 01:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asleeplessmalice/pseuds/asleeplessmalice
Summary: It was raining like the world was going to end (it wasn’t), but with the power out and the city at a halt, Crowley and Aziraphale stay in the bookshop and keep each other company. They put together a little dinner and reminisce on their favorite moments together while drunk.





	An Impromptu Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Another short-ish fic loosely insprired by this tumblr post: https://holisticfansstuff.tumblr.com/post/186258776257/noone-loves-good-omens-more-than-neil-gaiman-and.  
Find my post here: https://angeldemonhusbands.tumblr.com/post/186671380897/an-impromptu-dinner  
Just trying to work those writing muscles! Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending the whole day going around town, trying to escape the rain, Crowley decides to go to Aziraphale's bookshop and seek shelter.

The London rain continued for several days now. It wasn’t particularly heavy or strong; it just rained. _A lot_. But one day, the rain was so severe that it knocked out power lines, and cell towers were spotty at best. Larger-than-normal droplets fell from the sky, dragged in sideways by powerful gusts of winds. Thunder roared and lightning intermittently painted the sky with bright flashes. Everyone who was outdoors rushed to head indoors to shield themselves from the heavy downpour, including Crowley, who decided to head over to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Maybe he had sensed it coming, but he had a hunch Aziraphale would not want any guests in his bookshop at a time like that, with all the mud and wet leaves and _people_ tracking inside. And he was mostly right; Aziraphale would make an exception for his dear friend. 

Before he arrived, however, Crowley had been running ‘errands’ or run-of-the mill demon things all day, as he called them, but what he _actually_ did was go all over town to buy an umbrella. He never found a need for one, even though it often rained in London, but today was _different, _in many senses of the word. It took him all morning and into the afternoon to look for one, and just as he was about to give up, he found a local shop just down the road from the bookshop that sold custom novelty items, umbrellas included. So, of course he bought his with a little snake detail running down the handle. He finally found what he needed and was eager to head out the door when something in the window caught his eyes. There was a cute coffee mug with little angel wings as the handle and bought it as a gift for his own angel. Impractical, perhaps, but he thought Aziraphale would get a good chuckle out of it. 

Convinced he was mildly inconvenienced with the rain, Crowley locked himself in his Bentley outside the bookshop. But what kept him in there for nearly half an hour was trying to find the courage to ask Aziraphale if he could join him. Even though they knew each for as long as they have, he didn’t like asking for favors from anyone, especially not from Aziraphale. He scanned his mind for the right words to say, rehearsing them out loud to himself and struggling. But he made an exception today and just went for it because he really was so tired of the rain and just wanted to get away from it. 

He grabbed the mug and closed the door behind him. But as he unfurled the umbrella, the strong winds nearly blew it away. _It had to have one of ours who made these dreadful things. Can’t for the life of me figure it out. Never even needed one! _he muttered to himself as he struggled with the contraption_._ He was right, though; they are quite dreadful, which he should know because he invented them hundreds of years ago on a drunken spree. Fortunately for him, he narrowly won the battle against the wind and successfully opened it and carefully made his way across the road. Crowley, one; Nature, point five. 

Before he knocked on the door, he whipped out his compact mirror and fixed himself up, making sure nothing was out of place. He studied the words he wanted to say to himself. Then a sudden familiar face opened the door, and they both smiled brightly at the sight of the other.

He simply asked, “Could I come inside, the rain is just _ahhh_, yo know?” He played it off like it was no big deal but, in his mind, he fumbled. 

“Ah, thank goodness it’s you, Crowley! Yes, come in! I have been politely turning people away all afternoon. In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t mind, but the mud and leav-…” he defended himself as he gestured for Crowley to come inside. 

“Yes, the mud and leaves. I _know_. Don’t know why you even bother trying to keep people away. They take one look inside and they want to run back out.” Crowley teased. “S’understandable, I guess. Private space an all.” He rushed to put his umbrella away and sit down somewhere. “Here’s this thing I got at the shop.” 

“Oh, my. Thank you! What- wait! What do you mean they want to run out?! I thought I was being nice!” Aziraphale fired back. He was nice because it was expected of him; he was angel, after all. But there were a few choice incidents, he remembered, when he really wanted to tell people who irritated him to _kindly_ fuck off. He puffed his chest out and pulled his waistcoat taut in defiance. 

“Look, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want anyone to buy anything, just don’t lie! You never had the intention of actually selling any of these, right?” Crowley sent him a raised brow. 

“Well, honestly, no. I keep my collection of special books here! That’s why I make it especially uncomfortable in here, so they can leave, _on their own_.” Aziraphale emphasized the last part to get that point across that it was never his intention to be mean. Or more like, he didn’t want to pin the blame on himself. 

Crowley hardly noticed the candles randomly arranged around the shop amongst Aziraphale’s mini-ranting. They were stacked all over: on top of books and on tables, a few were on empty chairs. It gave the shop a nice ambience, though. 

“_This_ is a fire hazard for sure. I’m a demon, so I don’t mind a little heat, but you wouldn’t want your precious books to burn, would you?” 

“I wouldn’t dare think of it! But I needed to give the impression that the lights were out, so no one would come inside.” Aziraphale gave a faux sad face.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be all nice and helpful, you really aren’t.” Crowley mused.

“You have to understand! I’m just protective of my things, is all.” Aziraphale wanted to feel offended by Crowley’s comment, but he knew there was a hint of truth to it. He was a bit selfish, maybe even a little mean at times. Nevertheless, the impact of his words left him feeling a little embarrassed. 

“You’re a bit of a bastard, you know that?” Crowley added, but it didn’t help quell Aziraphale’s feelings.

The initial shock hadn’t quite worn off. Feelings were inadequately expressed. Neither said anything. They stood there, suspended in an awkward silence for a while, mindlessly wandering the bookshop. The scene resembled two people having a lover’s quarrel, which, it could be argued, is what happened. 

Aziraphale couldn’t stand the silence any moment longer, so he made his way to one of the windows up front to check in on the rain. 

“Boy, that’s a doozy of a rain out there, isn’t it?” Aziraphale posed the question to no one in particular as he peered out a window. He wiped the fog that formed on it to get a better view.

Crowley was startled when he heard Aziraphale speak for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Yes, fascinating.” answered Crowley nonchalantly as he walked up behind Aziraphale. At least now, the tension from before had been broken. 

Crowley made his way to where Aziraphale stood and breathed on the glass, fogged it up, and drew little pictures on it. 

Aziraphale gave him a playful slap on the shoulder and responded, “Crowley, don’t defile my shop with those _inappropriate_ drawings! I would like for this place to remain decent, if I can!” 

Crowley stuck his forked tongue out and sneered at him. “What do you mean, _decent_?! There are cobwebs in the corner, dust flying around, and there’s a rank smell that even _I_ can’t stomach!” Crowley snapped back. 

A small pause filled the room again, but when the moment passed, they both laughed till their bellies hurt. They hadn’t laughed so heartily in decades. Their relationship had been strained ever since their meeting in St. James Park in 1862, but this banter brought them a little closer; it’s something they both missed.

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as he led Crowley to the back room. “Oh, well, you know. I try my best to politely stop people from buying my books! They can look but not buy.” Aziraphale was running out of breath, but he managed to get a few more words out. “Would you like some tea or…?” and his voice trailed off when Crowley interrupted, pulling out a fine wine, as if by magic. He kept it hidden somewhere in the bookshop, where he _knew_ no one would ever look. 

“Oh, pshhh. Forget the tea, let’s have a little of _this_!” Crowley replied as he waved the bottle tauntingly at Aziraphale. “Got it back when I was roaming through France after the war ended. Good stuff, I hear.” 

Aziraphale stood there in shock and asked him, “Wha- why do you have that _here_? In _my_ bookshop? It must be very valu-…” 

“Oh, s’not a big deal, angel. I had it here the whole time! Can’t find a proper time to drink it anyway. Might as well have a drink now. With you.” Crowley said that last part cautiously. 

“Well, I guess that doesn’t sound _so_ bad. I’ll cook us up a little something!” beamed Aziraphale. What goes well with 70-year-old wine?” he pondered as he pretended to search through his stack of cookbooks. 

“Don’t tell me you actually keep food _here_, with all the rubbish?” Crowley said with a mild disgust. 

“No, of course not! I keep it in _here_.” Aziraphale pointed to his magic top hat and pulled out a plate of already-made crêpes. “I’m think I’m getting better at this magic thing, no?” he exclaimed proudly as he flashed his signature smile. 

It made Crowley roll his eyes, but he was secretly amused by the act. “Okay, I won’t question why or how you pulled a plate of crêpes out of a hat, but _only_ because we’re trapped inside, and I am feeling a bit peckish.” he conceded as he walked over to the table nearby. 

“Well, it’s not much of a dinner, but it will have to do for now.” Aziraphale sat down and leaned in to ask Crowley, “So, what were you doing in France in…” he paused in the hope that Crowley would give him an answer. 

“Oh, um, well, it-, I-, I was, just um, visiting a friend. For something. Nothing important.” He spilled on his words before he even had a drink. He didn’t want to tell him the true nature of his visit that day way back. He didn’t want to tell him he went in search of a famous chef who had a to-die-for recipe for crêpes, a recipe he knew that Aziraphale would have _loved_ and one he wanted to recreate for him. 

The chef in question had survived the war, but his restaurant had burned to cinders, so Crowley helped him build it back up, in return for the recipe. It was given to him in a pretty envelope with a bow on top. Unfortunately, he lost it on the way back to London and looked all over for it. He gave up after a while and it left him heartbroken. He hadn’t been able to congratulate Aziraphale on the opening of his bookshop way back, and he wanted to try again, but no luck. 

Crowley snapped out of his trance; it felt like ages but was, in fact, only a few seconds. Simply thinking about it, he felt a tear come on, but held it in. 

Aziraphale called out, “You have _other_ friends? You’ve never told me.” Aziraphale tried to coax Crowley into elaborating but he said nothing and looked nowhere. “_Not_ that it’s any of my business what you do on your own time or who you _fraternize_ with.” he concluded while he looked down gloomily and hid his mild jealousy. 

Another pause, but this time, it held longer, seemingly forever. Why was it so hard for them to express themselves to each other? They knew each other so well and for so long. So, why couldn’t they just have a simple talk and gush about their feelings to each other?

**Author's Note:**

> There should be 1 or 2 more chapters because this got a little out of hand. Thanks for reading! I would appreciate feedback! Check my blog: angeldemonhusbands.tumblr.com  



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